


he's a mess, full send

by denouemancer



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Almost got caught, Blow Jobs, Hair-pulling, M/M, PWP, Praise Kink, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:55:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28751016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/denouemancer/pseuds/denouemancer
Summary: Fresh from his victory against Razor Hugh, V winds down with Vik in the locker room and they almost get caught.
Relationships: Male V/Viktor Vector
Comments: 13
Kudos: 177





	he's a mess, full send

**Author's Note:**

  * For [we_the_mighty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/we_the_mighty/gifts).



“I won!”  
  
“I saw—”  
  
“Ha! I fuckin' _won_ Viky!”  
  
“Y' did good, V. Damn good.”  
  
“Fuck.” V breaths out sharp, winded more now than he had been in the ring. Still running hot from the bout, the ripperdoc's praise goes straight to his head. “Need some air though.”  
  
“Sure,” Viktor says, “follow me.”  
  
He cuts through the crowd easily, and V drifts along in his wake.  
  
The heavy thumping of V’s heart is deafening and he feels like he's aware of _everything_. The blinding overhead lights. The teasing brush of syn-silk on his thighs. The sweat trailing down his overheated skin and how his tank top clings to his torso. The way his face and ribs feel numb instead of battered while he floats on the endorphins of victory. How fucking good Vik's legs look as he takes long strides, leading the way to somewhere more secluded. It’s all a bit overwhelming. Now V's half-hard and aware of that too. He checks the coast is clear before tucking himself up into his waistband.  
  
Before long, Viktor turns them around a corner, holds open the nearest door and actually smiles as he announces, “Here we are. If there's anything I can do for the heavyweight champ—”  
  
“Fuck me.” V blurts.  
  
Vik freezes, eyebrows arching high.  
  
Crowding into his space, V backs Viktor into the room. It's a locker room, it's private; he pays no more attention to the details than that. V shoves at the door to hide them away, flicks on a light so they can see. It’s dim and dingy but it’ll do.  
  
“V.” Vik grumbles, but he has no forthcoming complaints.  
  
“C'mon Vik,” V almost pleads, “fuck me.”  
  
The ripperdoc chews at his bottom lip. He sighs. Then he removes his glasses and pinches at the bridge of his nose. “V, I'm flattered, truly. But I'm old. This really what you want? Some sort of victory prize?”  
  
“Yeah, something like that,” V confesses, swallowing around the nervous lump in his throat. “Something more, maybe. We can talk about it... or, or not? Whatever you want. I just need...”  
  
Viktor watches him with a heavy, calculating gaze. His eyes are real pretty when they're not hidden behind his shades. They're friendly. Trustworthy. A little bit sad. Right now they're impossible to read. But the old man hasn't said no yet.  
  
V tests his luck by reaching for the centre of Viktor's chest. “I need _something_.”  
  
His wrist is snatched in a calloused hand before he can touch. It's a strong enough grip V couldn't pull away from it even if he wanted to.  
  
Viktor looks like he's thinking about saying something. Probably to protest that V could do better, or that this sort of arrangement is unprofessional between a ripper and his client, or any other number of excuses, blah, blah, blah. He doesn't want to hear it so V pushes himself up against the taller man, prepared to beg if he has to. He's left speechless by how Vik doesn’t even budge. The old boxer is far more solid than he looks. A whole damn wall of muscle. V's cock twitches hard where it's trapped.  
  
For a split second Vik looks resigned—V's pushed too far, he thinks.  
  
Then Viktor pulls him in for a rough kiss.  
  
The heat between them is too much and Vik's shirt soaks up the sweat where V’s skin is bare, and it's their first kiss together so there's hardly any finesse to it. Then the doc wraps his arm around V's waist and pulls them flush together. V feels an answering stiffness between them and his knees threaten to give out. It's perfect. But Viktor pulls back before V can get too lost in it.  
  
“ _Vik_ —”  
  
“Dunno about you but I don't make a habit of bringing lube to fights,” Viktor complains, “so unless you've got some stashed in your gym bag, might have to wait a bit for your prize.”  
  
“No.” V tongues at his lower lip in thought. “No, I don't wanna wait. Let me blow you.”  
  
A warm flush creeps up Viktor's neck and stains his cheeks ruddy. His lips part. Then he's moving away, sweeping junk off a nearby bench so he's got space.  
  
Devouring the sight before him, V thrills at the way Vik's forearms flex as he starts undoing his pants. V is sure he's never dropped to his knees so eagerly before; he ends up kneeling between Vik's boots before the man has even managed to get his fly down and, by the time Vik's pulled his cock free and gotten himself comfortable, V has his tongue out ready for him.  
  
“Come get it,” Vik growls, rucking up his shirt, and threading his fingers in V's hair.  
  
V preemptively silences himself by taking as much as he can into his mouth.  
  
“Fuck, _easy_ now.” Vik's grip gets tight.  
  
All V can think is how good this is. The linoleum tiles beneath his shins are blessedly cool. Vik's thighs are warm and soft under his hands until he shifts, muscles bunching, and V squeezes in response. Feels like his thighs are made of fucking steel. Vik's cock is thick, heavy on his tongue. It only gets thicker as V swallows around it. His senses are flooded now, with the taste of slick salt and the smell of musk. If he was high off endorphins before, it pales by comparison. V bobs his head, wrapping a hand around the base of Viktor's dick and every gasp he pulls from the man only makes V harder. He never imagined Vik would make much noise all the times he’s imagined doing this for him. Never has he been happier to be wrong.  
  
Praise spills past Viktor's lips. Like when V lands a hit in training and Viktor hisses, “ _yes,_ ” below his breath, brimming with excitement and pride. And like when they’re doing bag drills, “ _just like that, good,_ ”—the deep rumbling approval that V craves from him, and fuck he needs to hear it again and again and again. And the things V’s never heard from him before; “ _fuck,_ ” drawn out and languid, and the deepest groans V's ever had the pleasure of hearing, low enough he swears he feels it more than anything.  
  
Fisting his own cock through his shorts, V whines when he has the space to breathe. It's sloppy. His chin ends up damp. He feels like he's conquered the whole goddamn world. And hell, he's sore for it. Hunched over Vik’s lap like this makes him all the more aware of the bruises from the fight. As much as he wants to indulge he knows if he keeps at it he's going to regret it sooner than later. For now his aches only spur him on, still fuelled by adrenaline. He’s gotta make the most of this.  
  
Vik seems to know it, too; he leans back and spreads his knees wider. Lets V go at his reckless pace, doesn't try to guide him or slow him down.  
  
V can't see that he keeps casting glances at the door still ajar.  
  
Sucking Vik's dick is even more satisfying than the victory over Razor had been. Stepping in the ring had been punishment from start to finish. The reward was finishing his task. Surviving it. But this — blowing Viktor, getting to learn the taste of him, edging him closer to getting off — is reward enough on its own. The way the older man combs his fingers through his hair only sweetens the experience. It makes V wonder what Vik will be like in the afterglow. If he'll be tender and gentle. If they'll be awkward with each other after this. Or maybe, if he's lucky, they can do it again. With lube and a bed next time. He wonders what Vik will be like when he cums. Would he moan louder? Tell V he did good, again?  
  
It might not be long before he finds out; Viktor seizes up, so V keeps up his pace, means to work for it and make it as mind-blowing as he can. The anticipation has him on edge. He needs relief just as bad as Vik does, so he pulls his cock free of his shorts and jerks himself off with rapid strokes.  
  
“V, wait a sec.” Vik whispers.  
  
V grunts in protest and looks up at Vik under heavy lashes.  
  
“ _Fuck._ ”  
  
The cock in his mouth gets real hard for a second, and V is sure Vik's about to blow.  
  
Vik pulls at V's hair, “V, _wait_.”  
  
“Hey, Vector. Is V in there with you?”  
  
Suddenly Vik's reluctance makes sense. Coach Fred, V's agent, is right outside the door. And he's about to walk in on them. Shit. _Shit,_ V _must_ be high on this because he can't bring himself to stop, keeps stroking himself slowly, mindlessly. Viktor cradles V’s head in his lap and V listens.  
  
“Yeah,” somehow the ripperdoc's voice is steady when he answers, “but give us a minute.”  
  
“I just need to speak t—”  
  
“I said give us a _goddamn_ minute.” Vik raises his voice.  
  
“Jeez, alright, I'll come back later.”  
  
A moment passes and V can hear Fred’s footsteps retreating. The tension is so ready to snap; every muscle in Viktor’s body is wound tight and trembling. He can feel the staccato of his pulse, cock throbbing on his tongue and V can’t take it any longer—he needs this, needs to cum. V resumes his pace with a fever pitch, swallowing Vik’s cock and jerking off like it’s a race to the finish line. Vik beats him to it. Bitter heat floods V’s mouth and Vik sounds like someone’s just punched the air from his lungs.  
  
Viktor sobs V’s name, and he can’t help but to tip over the edge after him.  
  
Slowly, V’s senses come back to him. There’s a ringing in his ears. His hand is slick and the front of his shorts are damp. His legs have fallen asleep under him. He has his face buried in the crease of Viktor’s leg, zipper digging into his jaw and wet cock resting against his chin. Fuck. V breathes deeply and grins.  
  
Vik’s fingers still tangle lazily in his hair.

  
—x—  
  


Turns out things do get awkward between them, at least for a couple of days. But then V ends up down at the clinic and, whether for bluster or with cheek, he points out a bottle of lube by the clinic chair and makes some clever remark. Then V ends up on that chair with Vik behind him.  
  
Things go just fine after that.

**Author's Note:**

> PWP, but I could be inspired to write a proper slow-burn if there's interest in it.


End file.
